I stood on the pedestrian pavement with big fat railings, watching happily as the sea flowed freely without restraint. It was peaceful. Peaceful in spite of the intermittent passage of speedboats and the occasional luxury Yacht.
I was especially awed by this experience – the opulence of the speed boats and yachts added to my excitement. Sea watching is probably a common occurrence for most Lagosians, especially those who live or work on the island. But village-first-timers like me in Lagos, savor experiences like these because we probably only see little streams, where we hail from.
I turned to move in the direction of my original destination (where I was headed before I got sidetracked into watching lolling waves), and my eyes were instantly drawn to the existence of another world, a world famously known as ‘under bridge’. It was a dire world. An existence bereft of even the most basic of life’s comforts. It was a shock to see that people actually lived here!
My curiosity was piqued, and my natural inclination to investigate took over. I walked closer and observed the proceedings unraveling before my eyes.
A woman, in her late thirties, who for every intent and purpose, was the Mother hen of the roost, came out of her ‘room’; a room that had no discernible exit or entry. She shouted at her wards for still sleeping and snoring on the ‘cozy’ cardboards which served as beds, when others were out hawking on the highways, washing dirty windscreens, pick-pocketing, clinging to buses as conductors etc.
In response to her morning cry, a masculine voice told her not to disturb the community. Wait! Which community? This was the first question that popped in my head. It was difficult to acknowledge the truth that stared me in the face – that a community of human beings actually lived under a concrete bridge.
As I stood there lost in thought, one of the unhealthy looking teenage boys pulled out a beer can and sipped continuously, while he explained to the others, how he managed to snatch two purses with ten thousand naira in them the night before. My heart bled as I wondered, “Where was his mother at the time? What could drive one so young into such criminality?”
I moved closer and saw a lot homeless persons, in the same shoes as those of the people I had previously observed. Little kids turned scavengers; no goals, no dreams to aspire to, no future.
Nigeria had failed these ones.
Join Ayorinsola Obisanya on
Twitter: @fabobisanya
Instagram: @fabiosanya
I was especially awed by this experience – the opulence of the speed boats and yachts added to my excitement. Sea watching is probably a common occurrence for most Lagosians, especially those who live or work on the island. But village-first-timers like me in Lagos, savor experiences like these because we probably only see little streams, where we hail from.
I turned to move in the direction of my original destination (where I was headed before I got sidetracked into watching lolling waves), and my eyes were instantly drawn to the existence of another world, a world famously known as ‘under bridge’. It was a dire world. An existence bereft of even the most basic of life’s comforts. It was a shock to see that people actually lived here!
My curiosity was piqued, and my natural inclination to investigate took over. I walked closer and observed the proceedings unraveling before my eyes.
A woman, in her late thirties, who for every intent and purpose, was the Mother hen of the roost, came out of her ‘room’; a room that had no discernible exit or entry. She shouted at her wards for still sleeping and snoring on the ‘cozy’ cardboards which served as beds, when others were out hawking on the highways, washing dirty windscreens, pick-pocketing, clinging to buses as conductors etc.
In response to her morning cry, a masculine voice told her not to disturb the community. Wait! Which community? This was the first question that popped in my head. It was difficult to acknowledge the truth that stared me in the face – that a community of human beings actually lived under a concrete bridge.
As I stood there lost in thought, one of the unhealthy looking teenage boys pulled out a beer can and sipped continuously, while he explained to the others, how he managed to snatch two purses with ten thousand naira in them the night before. My heart bled as I wondered, “Where was his mother at the time? What could drive one so young into such criminality?”
I moved closer and saw a lot homeless persons, in the same shoes as those of the people I had previously observed. Little kids turned scavengers; no goals, no dreams to aspire to, no future.
Nigeria had failed these ones.
Join Ayorinsola Obisanya on
Twitter: @fabobisanya
Instagram: @fabiosanya
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